Get by with a little help
by 1848EllisBell
Summary: Set mid season three. Most days she considers herself bulletproof, needless of a partner. But some days - yesterday - remind her she is neither of those. - 1st place winner, winter hiatus Castle contest.


**Very small scene, written for the Castle Contest. Didn't expect to place at all, so very surprised right now! Thank you, Castle Contest, for the amazing fundraising you did for Kate/myrandomness, and for thinking my writing good enough to place. It's been a super crap year, but you've ended it for me on a high.  
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**I wasn't even going to enter, but was talked into it VERY last minute by a friend who convinced me it was a legit writing contest. So for something VERY rushed to place at all, let alone come first, has confounded me a little. But I'm very pleased. **

**This is an altered version, and the kind people at Castle Contest were lovely enough to allow me to post a slightly different version to the one that won. All that's different is a small section towards the end that allows me to take this from a one-shot, to something that may receive a second chapter. I wanted to give myself that option, so I hope you won't mind the hundred extra words added to make that possible. Not saying I will definitely add a second chapter, but, should the muse allow it, I will. **

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><p><strong>A mid-S3 piece. <strong>

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><p>Warm shards of sunlight slice across her comforter, coaxing her back to consciousness as the heat diffuses through to her batted bones. She took some hard hits last night, a few blows to her stomach, to her ribs, before her back connected with the cold concrete. Castle had helped her off the oil-stained workshop floor, and she'd cuffed the suspect without mercy while Espo and Ryan held him down, fire flashing in their eyes. And adrenaline had masked her pain. She feels it all now, every bruise from every blow she was dealt. Almost awake, still struggling towards the surface to break through to wakefulness, but already in pain.<p>

Kate groans as the specks of sleep scatter.

Everything hurts.

Even in pain she wouldn't have asked for the day off, but Montgomery had insisted. He sees through her mask now, has done for some time. Castle, too, but she never stood a chance with him. He's too observant. Too nosy.

Her groan is part frustration at the men in her life, part physical pain, as she hauls herself out of bed, bones cracking, stiff joints protesting, bruises aching.

She used to bounce back faster than this.

She certainly didn't bounce when she hit the ground, so hard she saw stars, so hard she couldn't breathe as all the air whooshed out of her and she fought to hold on to consciousness.

Thank God for exhaustless Espo, reliable Ryan, chivalrous Castle. Her gallant guys. Most days she considers herself bulletproof, needless of a partner. But some days - yesterday - remind her she is neither of those.

She moves with stilted steps to the bathroom, a slight limp from the pain in her hip. She had refused to allow Castle to follow her home last night, determined to be okay on her own, but the knock on her door, a heavy, determined sound, tells her he did only as asked last night, and no more.

Her bare feet scuff along the floor. She runs a hand through her mussed hair, adjusts her shirt, checks she's wearing pants. Preparing for bed had been such a blur of painkillers and exhaustion that she's surprised she managed to change out of her dirty, damaged clothes at all. The metal handle seems sharper against the grazed skin of her palm, the door itself heavier, as she pulls it open.

"I thought I told you-"

"-to go home," he finishes. He stands, weary and worried, his face a roadmap of deep lines, his lips drawn tight, his hands hidden behind him. "If you recall, I did."

"I meant stay there," she clarifies. She shifts, leans against the side of the door, but the sudden pressure against her hip makes her wince - and he sees, his eyes narrowing as he watches. "I'm fine, Castle."

"Alexis was thrown off a horse once," he begins, and she doesn't interrupt, just lets him talk. "She hit the ground so hard I swear I felt every jolt, can still hear the crack of her arm…" He trails off, swallows hard against the memory. "Healing took a while, and I remember what helped. Thought it might help you." He brings his hands from behind his back, reveals the cold pack and a small bouquet of flowers.

She doesn't instantly accept them, just stays where she is, eyes on the gifts, lips curling up. "Flowers, huh?"

"You're smiling," he tells her. "So it's working."

"It's more a grimace than a smile." But she accepts the flowers, and the cold pack, and shuffles aside. "Wanna come in?"

He hesitates, and his eyes skirt around the room, past her, checking for-

"Josh isn't here," she confirms.

"Working?"

"Mmhmmm."

He nods, and then steps to the side and collects something off the ground. A moment later he's standing before her again, a to-go cup in each hand, his grin just a little sheepish. "Good, because I only bought two and I don't want to share."

He slips past her into her home and carries the coffees into the kitchen, and she follows behind. She pulls a vase off a shelf, fills it with water and arranges the bouquet in it, before placing it in the center of the kitchen counter, angling it so the flowers face him. The cold pack goes into the freezer, and she reaches for the hot coffee.

"Thank you, Castle," she says, before bringing the plastic lid to her lips and breathing in the spicy aromas.

"I know you didn't need any of this, but I wanted to." His fingers are preoccupied with the slight indentations in the sleeve of the cup, his eyes too, as he adds, "When you hit the ground..." He lifts his eyes to meet hers.

"Yeah, I know." She gives him a tired smile. "They're just bruises. I'll be fine tomorrow."

"You'll be a Monet tomorrow."

"I already am." She lifts her shirt - his shirt, actually, from a year ago now - and allows him just a brief view of the colors painting her side, her ribs.

"Ouch."

She nods and drops the shirt again.

"If it helps," he begins, a wry edge to his tone, "Esposito wasn't gentle when he threw him in holding."

"It shouldn't help, but it does." She lifts her chin towards the flowers. "It all helps."

He stands, coffee cup in hand, and then leans in, just a little closer, and asks, "Does the shirt help too?"

She bites her lower lip and manages a nonchalant shrug. "You want it back?"

"Keep it. Looks better on you anyway." He steps back, puts distance between them, but not _too_ much. "Alexis said _The Little Mermaid_ and ice cream help too. Tonight, seven o'clock."

She blinks. "You're inviting me over for a movie night?"

"Seven o'clock," he repeats. "Alexis hates tardiness, so don't be late." He walks away, towards the door, leaving her to absorb his words.

"Uh-" she fumbles, unsure of what to say, before shaking herself out of her stupor. "It helps?"

He stands with his back to the entrance and nods. And then he turns and steps out of her apartment, closing the door behind him, leaving her nursing her coffee, a little perplexed.

She doubts Alexis had anything to do with the invitation, but she'll go nonetheless. She'll watch movies, eat ice cream, allow them to fuss over her just a little. Because some days she can admit that even the great Kate Beckett needs a little help.


End file.
